Ravensblood Forest Death and all her friends

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There was a curious energy around Ravensblood Forest that day. Her time was nearing; Olive knew from the shakiness and restlessness she felt in her limbs. It was impossible to sit still and she sauntered around and around the den site in a quite ungainly fashion, wishing and wanting and waiting for the next steps to initiate — but these anxieties paled in comparison to the dread that shot through her heart when their acrid scent swept past her on the dulcet, spring breeze. 

Yes, she knew the scent well; it was stinking and heavy and utterly out of place here amongst the familiarity and sanctity of Ravensblood Forest. It was almost the exact same scene that recapitulated over and over again in her nightmares; the one where their enemies tracked her down, violated the armistice Dakarai had bought from them by surrendering his body to their fangs. In her nightmares, they were endlessly hungry for both flesh and fun; hunting them down and making merriment of the act. What was once a vision of her stygian subconscious almost immediately came to fruition [not only in front of her nose but in front of her mind’s eye] and it knocked the wind right out of her. 

Dakarai had been out to fetch her water and she knew he would not be back, for Dakarai had a gallant heart and would go to the ends of the earth to protect her and the children who slept so soundly in her belly. As much as this pleased her, it also vexed her. She, quite selfishly, wanted Dakarai to be there, with her, while everyone else dealt with their woes — but knew that her dark knight would desire to be abreast with Ceannasach and the clever Lotte and spunky Chusi, outwitting and outfighting their enemies as a unit… but, still, she fretted and worried. Dakarai had returned to her from the dead twice, but she was unsure the gods would indulge her thrice.  This life was far much scarier than she ever had imagined it, and silently she cursed the gods for creating a world where she must go through such enmity in order to live a life of love. The forest was silently, creepily so, and the unknowingness was stifling. Olive couldn’t take it and she paced endlessly, unable to eat or sleep, feeling tightness in both her heart, mind and belly. The woman did not leave the den site but strained her ears towards the borders, wishing to hone in on even a small part of the faraway assemblage — but her own ever-present whine was the only sound she could hear. 

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